


Crisps

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For doctorabbywatson, who prompted me with some "warm and fluffy and cuddly and tender" Mystrade. It doesn't seem especially fluffy at first, I suppose, but the ending should make up for that. Rated G.</p><p>Greg comes over for DVD night with something on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crisps

Mycroft has been straightening up the sitting room for an hour. He keeps rearranging the crisps and DVDs and God knows it shouldn't matter, but it does, it really does. 

The doorbell finally rings, and there's his Greg, his greeting smile still looking a little subdued, but he seems well. The divorce wasn't a surprise, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt him. 

"You look well," he praises. Greg's smile grows just a bit, but then, something, perhaps sadness, perhaps...nervousness?...wars with the smile. Mycroft blinks, realizing he's taken a bit too long to invite his friend in. "Come in!" he says. "I've set everything up." He holds the door open for Greg, deduces a few things about his day automatically, gives him a light pat on the back as they head for the sitting room.

"Hey! My favorite!" Greg says, picking up a package of crisps and starting to open it. "Of course, you'd know that," he says, flashing a genuine smile at Mycroft. Success, then. 

It still feels slightly awkward having a guest over for snacks and films like they're thirteen, but when Greg smiles it thrills him, so he really doesn't mind.

"Is everything alright?" Mycroft asks, ushering Greg into his normal place on the couch. "I'll get drinks in a moment."

"We'll need 'em," Greg says with a nod. "Trust me."

Mycroft takes a glance at the films. Not for the films. For...for Greg and Mycroft? Mycroft blinks. "Okay," he says faintly, quickly making his way to the kitchen. A beer for Greg, and though Mycroft hadn't been planning on drinking, he does fill a bit of a glass and take it back with him, just in case. 

Greg takes the beer with a shaking hand, thanks Mycroft, and then runs a hand through his hair.

Mycroft sits next to him, like usual, and says, "Greg, whatever's on your mind, you're just going to build it up until you can't say it if you keep going at this rate."

"You're right," Greg admits. "I, er. I came here to thank you for all you've done for me."

Mycroft's eyes widen. He blinks. "You're welcome," he says. He wonders if Greg no longer has any use for him. Sad, of course, but not entirely unexpected.

"No, I don't think you understand," Greg says with a swig and a sigh and a crinkle of the bag of crisps as his grip tightens. "For months, you've been here for me. You've listened to me, you've invited me over to watch films. We've built _traditions_ these past few months. I don't think I've ever had a friend who's done that for me," he says, gaze soft and open. "It's more than anyone deserves."

When Mycroft starts to protest politely, Greg raises a hand. "You're gonna say I deserve it; I know. You're always so kind to me. You...you take notice of me, and I know Sherlock does too, but you use it to make things easier for me, to make me feel...special, and no one does that. I could have been wallowing in misery, but you've given me the best few months of my adult life, completely seriously." Greg takes a look around the room for a moment. "You've treated me like an equal, when I'm clearly not." He looks back at Mycroft.

Mycroft is sitting a bit stiffly, wondering where this is going, and why it has to go anywhere, why anything has to go anywhere when things have been going so well. 

"I, er, I suppose," Greg says, looking a bit sheepish, "I suppose I've been wondering if...if maybe." He ducks his head down with a smile and a laugh. 

"You can tell me," Mycroft says softly, hand slowly coming to rest over his chest as if that will protect him.

"Do you maybe fancy me a little?" Greg asks, quirking his brow.

Mycroft's eyes widen in horror. This really is it. He's going to be tossed aside. This is awful. His hand tightens on the glass and he forgets to drink any. How did Greg even realize? 

"Whoa! Whoa there, sorry," Greg says, flushing slightly. "Must be the divorce talking. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to project. I really wasn't trying to be rude," he says, eyes widening with anxiousness. "I thought it would have been sweet, is all."

"S-sweet?" Mycroft manages.

"Well yeah!" Greg chuckles, taking another swig. "It doesn't matter, though. I'm fine with being friends. You're my rock."

"I...am?" He finally manages to move, taking a sip of his drink, then another.

"Well, yeah! A place to stay when I'd needed it, a shoulder to cry on, a friend to laugh with, and not to mention returning every message, even when I was drunk and stupid. I went to Baskerville for you, and good luck finding someone else who I would have done that for," he says with a grin. "Yeah, you really are just...so dependable and fantastic. Sherlock's brought a lot of interesting things to my life, but you're the best one." He jams his hand into the bag of crisps and starts to snack on them; Mycroft knows this means he feels nervous again.

Mycroft gently reaches for the bag, taking a few crisps for himself as a sort of show of solidarity, handing the bag back. "I do fancy you," he says simply. "I'd thought I'd hidden it well, but apparently not." Greg's grip crinkles the bag audibly again. "Is this a problem?" Mycroft asks with a hint of nerves.

"Of course not, you perfect sod!" Greg says, gesturing in his enthusiasm, crisps flying. "This is...ideal! I, um. Of course I don't want to rush into anything, but you're...you're who I want, who I've wanted since I shouldn't have, but now I _can_ , and I still _do_ , and you want me too." He flings the bag of crisps to the ground and launches himself at Mycroft for a heavy embrace.

Mycroft grips him back, sighing heavily, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. "Oh Greg," he chokes.

"I'm gonna be really forward," Greg murmurs, "again," he adds, "but I just feel like going ahead."

"Go ahead," urges Mycroft quietly, his entire being focused on Greg's closeness and his words.

"I want to take you out. I want to be seen with you, don't care if I'll attract attention. I mean, we have dinner sometimes, but we could hold hands and I wouldn't mind at all. And maybe we could live together, and your house wouldn't be so empty. You deserve it, you really do."

Mycroft grips Greg even more tightly. "Yes," he says. "Yes, absolutely. I'd _never_ cheat on you," he says fiercely. "I'd never do that to you. I'd be gone sometimes, and I can't help it, but you'd...understand?"

"Of course I would!" Greg kisses Mycroft's cheek. "Of course I would, Mycroft! And I'd understand if you had trouble with your rotten brother."

"And I'd understand if you smelled like a crime scene or wanted me to watch you play football."

Greg sighs. "You'd know; what's the proper time at which someone is no longer on the rebound?"

"Why in the hell would you think I would know that?" Mycroft asks faintly.

"Because you know everything?"

Mycroft chuckles, then considers. "If I know everything, and I think you're ready for us to start out with a few dates, and I think we'll be fine, is that a satisfactory answer?"

"Yes," Greg says simply, and they hold each other for a very, very long time, not minding the alcohol in their hands or the crisps at their feet.


End file.
